Growing up, I never really liked spending lots of time alone.  I couldn’t go to sleep-away church camp without my younger sister, and I was one of those girls who always pined away over her crushes, wanting a boyfriend years before I got one.

As a young adult, I was in what I’d consider both healthy and unhealthy relationships with men.  I was your typical case, fear of being alone, always seeking other people’s approval, blah blah blah.

The funny part was I didn’t have much to blame it on.  No Daddy issues here, I had lots of male role models in my life and my parents are still married, and most days happily at that, haha.  No major loss or emotional trauma during childhood to haunt me for the rest of my life.  Just a loving immediate and extended family and a childhood filled with happiness.  (I know, I hate me too.)

I was making mistakes because I was young and trying to fill an emptiness inside.  Even though The Mother told me that empty space is something only God can fill and my hippie liberal friends told me it was for myself, I stupidly thought it was for my future partner.  They would fix everything that was wrong with me.  They would make me feel more normal.  They would make everything less scary.

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When I met The Scottish I was content if not happy.  I was 26, single, and enjoying The City.  I was looking for love in all the wrong places, theatre (not a good idea for this artist) and at church (single men do not go to church, but I did meet lots of awesome women there).  While I might have been considered a flirt I wasn’t trying to fill any empty or aching spaces.

When The Scottish and I met at a friend’s birthday party in a bar in The City, it was easy right from the start.  He was so independent and so kind.  He had a great smile and he was tall and skinny (just my type).

Neither of us would say it was love at first sight, and I can’t tell you that I called The BFF right away claiming to have met the man I was going to marry, all I knew was that I wanted to keep seeing him.  We began dating while simultaneously forming a friendship.

The Scottish was calm, smart, and focused on having fun.  He liked me a lot but he didn’t need me.  He didn’t need anyone.  About two months into our relationship The Scottish asked me to go to Scotland with him and I was like, “Whoa, back the truck up!”  Turns out he didn’t mean for it to be taken as a big step, he just thought I’d be up for a fun trip and a new experience.

I did some soul-searching those first few months we were together.  I showed The Scottish my true colors (is crazy a color?).  I confided in him that I’d been hurt before.  I opened myself up to a new culture and many new ideas.  I mimicked his independence.  I got my first passport.

The Scottish turned out to be one of the most compassionate, sweet, silly and sexy guys I’d ever met.  He never made me feel less than and he listened and supported me wholeheartedly as a person and as a day-dreaming artist.  Sure, he was also trying to get into my pants at the time, but he’s now married to my pants AND he still respects me.  Win win.

The Scottish is not the man I thought I would marry, like so many of us, the person on paper rarely lives up to real life, but in most cases real life is a million times better than any childhood daydream.  The Scottish isn’t religious, he’d rather be dead than perform on stage (or write a blog for that matter), and he likes bars for the same reason I dislike them (they’re busy and loud), but none of that matters because our differences have been the driving force behind our relationship.  He has cracked open the world for me in a way I didn’t know was possible.

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I know gushing about my husband might make some eyes roll, but I hope to always find reasons to gush about him.  I find myself continually grateful for his presence in my life but not because he fills an empty space inside but because he’s by my side on both the days I feel low and hollow and the days I feel full and happy.

He is the good.  He is my fairy tale.

Engagement photos by the super talented Jennifer Jackson.

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